


I'd love to change the world

by Astrobabe0019



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Multi, Slow Burn, also, im just excited okay ive had this idea for a while now, it will get better i promise, just felt the need to clarify, okay this is super open ended right now, photography!!, point out some more characters if you want me to add them!, rated teen right now because I have a filthy mouth, reader is so cute omg, some of the relationships are romantic some are not, you'd think i was a sailor
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-04
Updated: 2016-12-04
Packaged: 2018-08-30 20:25:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8547937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Astrobabe0019/pseuds/Astrobabe0019
Summary: Life imitates art far more than art imitates life. -Oscar WildeReader, a photography loving empath, is thrust into the chaos that is the Avengers.(crappy summary is crappy, please don't kill me)





	

**Author's Note:**

> warning: the reader kind of shows some anxiety? I don't want to hurt anyone indirectly so just watch out. I don't go super in depth but I just want to be sure.  
> I know what you're thinking-  
> "Taelar you haven't even finished your other story, what are you even doing here."  
> but I'm terrible and I couldn't get the idea out of my head so here we are.  
> also I love all the characters they just need hugs and blankets  
> that is all  
> \----  
> Word Count: 1,973

     _Click._

_Click._

_Click-click._

_  
_      You're sat on a park bench, one earbud in and some vague indie song playing. A favorite, of course, but simple enough to fade to a lower part of your attention while you focused on the task at hand. You must have looked a little odd, you mused, with your camera in front of you like it was more of an extension of your face than an object. Your lips quirked in amusement, more clicks emanating from the shutter of your lens. 

     The weight of your camera is a familiar one. When you have one of your cameras in hand, it makes you feel like you're holding onto your mother's hand and not a photograph, an artificial warmth mirroring your fantasy.

     She was the source of your obsession with photography, you figured. Your father had given you his taste and eye for art (which had developed into a deeply personal thing for you), but your mother had given you the cameras. And hey, these things weren't going to just use themselves.

     With that thought, you shake your head softly, lowering the camera to your lap with your numb hands. The crisp fall air was doing you no favors, it seemed. You keep your eyes cast down for a moment, deciding to pack your camera away after a few seconds' deliberation. The bag at your side became a little fuller.

     You stand and begin making your way home, pulling your scarf and coat a little tighter, your hat a little further down your forehead. Your eyes catch movement ahead of you- a man in a crisp outfit and dark sunglasses, even though the sun is quite hidden behind some clouds. You brush it off as a new person moving into town.

     The Oregon town you live in is diminutive, but not a small town by any means. You've always been careful not to stay in small towns. People here are polite and genuine, but there is a level of privacy which you appreciate. You return nods and smiles as you wind through the streets, patting dogs' heads as you greet them as well. None of these people are unfriendly or hostile, but you don't count them as friends all the same. You see another man in dark glasses standing a little too causally against a wall, seemingly absorbed in his phone. He doesn't move as you pass, but you catch a glimpse of a comm unit in his ear and get the feeling he's watching you as you pass. You to quicken your pace, now anxious to get home.

     Standing on your porch, you fumble with your keys and drop them, cursing all the way. The charms attached to the chain jingle cheerily as you stoop down and swipe them up. You shove the one you need into the lock with a huff. The hairs on the back of your neck tingle suddenly, goosebumps not caused by the cold coming up as you get the vague sense of someone watching you. Your hand rests of the knob as your head twists around, trying to locate the perpetrator of this unease. The only thing you could really see out of place is where a new car is parked, almost sinisterly, at the house across the street. The heavy tint makes you narrow your eyes and twist the knob, eager to get inside.

     As soon as you're in, you slam the door behind you and rest up against it, sliding the safety chain into place and locking the deadbolt. Maybe not needed in the town you lived in, but you had it nonetheless. A deep breath does little to quell the anxiety rising up on your stomach. Your cat, Schrödinger, rubs up against your leg and effectively distracts you. You crouch down and pet her, listening to the purring until you can breathe properly. Being around people and then the car on top of it? The fewer people the better, reason number one for choosing a smaller town. Wait a minute. The car.

     You slide your bag from your shoulder, letting it take up a plush armchair and step to the window where you have the curtains drawn. You peer through the small space between two before shaking your head at yourself. What were you, a 6 year old? They were probably just visiting relatives.

     _Visiting relatives with federal plates,_ part of you whispered. You paused, turning back to the window. Sure enough, the shiny black car had exempt federal plates. _Totally not suspicious._

     "Whatever," you mutter to yourself, pulling back and looking at Schrödinger. "This is just nonsense. We have things to do, don't we?" She blinks in agreement and you nod once, decisively. You pull the curtains back, letting the pale afternoon light flood the room. You smile and kick off your shoes in the entrance area, pulling off your outer layers and trying to smooth your messy (h/c) hat hair. You head to the kitchen intent on feeding your loyal companion, and she picks up after you, tail held high and meowing excitedly.

     "Yes darling, I'm getting it," you coo as you spoon the soft food into her dish. The doorbell rings, making you stop in your actions.

     Your eyes flit to the knife resting on your kitchen counter before you decide against it. You have locks on your door, and you'll be just fine. Right?

     Right.

     You step quietly to the door, kicking your shoes towards the wall and out of the way with a muttered curse. Unlocking the deadbolt, you keep the chain linked and open the door as far as it allows. A few people stand on your covered porch. They look familiar, but you can't place them for whatever reason. 

     "Can I help you?"

     "(Y/N) (L/N)?"

     You pause and shift uncomfortably. "Uh, yeah that's me. Can I help you?" You repeat the question in the hopes that this...thing would go faster.

     "Ms. (L/N), if you would be so kind as to open the door, we would just like to ask a few questions," The main speaker, a darker skinned man who simply screamed 'authority', shifted where he stood. He was clad in dark clothing that accentuated his likely muscular frame, and an even darker eye patch. You let your eyes move from him to the three people behind him, two men and a redheaded woman. Breathing lightly, you cast your senses out only a bit, trying to feel out why they were here. You got the impression that though they were in fact lethal, (a statement reinforced by the fact that they were all carrying concealed weapons) they weren't here to harm. Head lifting a bit, you nod once, mutter a 'hold on', and close the door. You slide the chain out and open the door again, stepping out of the way to let them in and watching as they settle on the couch and armchairs. Closing the door, you step over and hold one arm with the other. "Would anybody like something to drink?"

     After a few negative responses, you nod again, moving to sit in the armchair directly across from the assumed leader. Schrödinger runs up and sniffs at the new people, receiving a few scratches behind the ears from the redhead before meowing quietly and coming to settle in your lap. Your fingers run through her coat absentmindedly. "So...you said you had some questions mister...?"

     He picks up where you let your sentence drop. "Nick Fury, Director of S.H.I.E.L.D.," he folds his hands in his lap. Your eyes drop and follow the movement, tensing. What did these guys, of all people, want with you? 

     Feeling eyes on you, you look over and finally realize where you know two of the three others from. The redhead is Black Widow, whose brief moments in action had been caught on a scarce number of shaky cameras open to the public. Most footage of her is deleted quickly, likely as she's supposed to be a spy. The dirty blonde right next to her must be Hawkeye, of who there is even less footage. You've no clue who the man in the sharp suit and closely cropped hair is. 

     "So uh, I'm guessing you're aware of my..." you grimace and continue. "gift." Director Fury nods and stares you down with his good eye. "Very," is all he seems to have to say on the matter. 

     You nod, focusing more intently on Schrödinger again and avoiding eye contact. "Ms. (L/N), I'm here to talk to you about the Avenger Initiative."

     At this you look to him again. He regards you just as steadily. "Which is?" you murmur. 

     "A last line of defense," he starts. "The idea is to bring together a group of of remarkable people to see if they can become something more. To see if they can work together when we need them to, to fight the battles that we never could," he stops. "We being normal humans, that is."

     You hum, looking briefly to the agents sitting semi-casually on your couch. "Don't you have enough of those people now, though? I mean, if you're here for the reason I think you are, I don't see why you could ever need me." You look back at the man sitting across from you. "I'm not terribly special."

     "But you are," he tries to begin another spiel but you cut him off, not caring about the consequences in that moment. "I'm a freak," you start. "Some flawed prototype that didn't get swept under the rug quickly enough."

     "(Y/N)," he begins. You don't stop, even as he uses your first name in a tone you can't place. "If you want me to lay low, I can. I mean, I can go chill out in the woods for a few years, get off the map again," you're rambling now, but you can't help it, anxiety rushing back up into your stomach and chest.

    "(Y/N)," he raises his voice just a tad, and you're startled into stopping and listening. His eyes get almost soft, though you wouldn't have noticed much if you hadn't been fixated on his face. "(Y/N), we would like to have you on the team. Just come to New York, give it a try and stay for a while." He pauses and you sigh lightly, feeling Schrödinger purr and push into your hand. "We need you," he divulges.

    "Why?" you question, genuinely stunned.

    "Your abilities are incredibly unique, and could be highly useful," you shift in your seat. "or highly dangerous. It'd be easiest to monitor you in New York, at the Avengers Tower."

    "So...you aren't going to run tests on me and keep me in a cell are you? I'll have relative freedom, right?" you ask warily. This seemed too good to be true. Fury nods and opens his mouth. 

    "Relative freedom, free room and board, doesn't get much better than that," Hawkeye cracks before Fury can respond, winking at you playfully. Your lips twitch and you huff a laugh.

    "Okay, um. Okay."

    Fury leans back. "Okay as in 'okay I understand' or 'okay I'll be coming with'?"

    "Uh, the second one. I'm willing to at least give this a shot," you smile a little unsteadily, but get sudden waves of content satisfaction from all of them. It seems you've made a good choice. "As long as my stuff and my cat get to come with." Schrödinger raises her head and yawns sleepily in agreement. 

    "Of course," Fury acquiesces. 

    "I'll just get my things ready then I suppose," you rise, cat jumping from your lap and off to somewhere more exciting. Positive answers reach you and so you begin to gather your belongings. 

     _What in the hell have I gotten myself into?_

 


End file.
